


The Darkest Thoughts in the Brightest Sands

by AceQueenKing



Category: Aladdin (1992)
Genre: Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Post-Canon, Seduction, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 13:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Jasmine has a dream where she submits to Jafar, but the effects of it prove long-lasting.





	The Darkest Thoughts in the Brightest Sands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanwenmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/gifts).



Jasmine was dreaming, at least she was pretty sure. She couldn’t remember how she wound up in the desert otherwise, though it felt so strangely true to life that she wondered whether or not she was truly dreaming. She blinked as she walked over hot sands, scorching her feet. Sandstorms whirled about her, pounding into her body mercilessly as she walked forward. She turned back and forth in the hot sun. “Aladdin?” She called out, but no one answered. She squinted, trying to get her bearings.

 _Walk_ , a whisper suggested. The voice felt familiar, but not so much so that she could identify it. She walked forward. She wished she knew where she was, but she was dreaming; it could have been nowhere, it could have been outside of Agrabah, it could have been Cairo, or perhaps Aleppo. She regretted that her father had never let her explore much of the world, and even with Aladdin she had never seen more than a bird’s eye view of the heavenly cities.

Which definitively did not resemble the sea of sand currently burning her tender feet. She shivered, in spite of the awful heat.

But she kept walking.

In the dream, she did not fight it, as she might have thought to do in life. But then, Jasmine had not bothered fighting in a long time. With Jafar gone and the kingdom in peace, she had become a downright placid queen.

 _How could you not? Your debate partner is so notably duller than you, Sultana_. _One wonders how you could even bear to live in such a boring partnership._ The voice was still too heavy a whisper for her to be quite certain it was not her own, but the inflections reminded her of…someone else. Someone long gone.

 _Dull in many ways,_ the traitorous voice whispered.

“That’s not true!” She snarled into the wind. She balled her fists, preparing to fight an invisible foe, but none appeared.

 _Does he truly satisfy your appetites?_ The voice asked with an all but mocking tone; she could almost sense it sensed how she had…yearnings. Yearnings she had _never_ voiced.

_Ah, I thought so._

“He’s a good husband.” She folded her arms in false modesty, knowing full well there was little point in doing so, but still. She was stubborn and long-overdue for a fight. And truly, Aladdin was worth fighting for on this point: he was emotionally available, tender, sweet; a careful ruler and a wise husband.

_Your blush says otherwise, Princess. But your teeth were always too sharp for such a mere thief. You are hungry, that much is clear, my dear._

The voice spoke as if it knew her. She bit her lip, shook her face. There was only one person who had called her my dear, and he was — well, as dead as one could be.

“You don’t know me,” she hissed, and snapped her fingers, trying to force herself to wake.

_Don’t I?_

The ground shifted between her feet; the sky darkened. Jasmine slapped herself, feeling instinctive she would regret it if she stayed asleep. But though she felt no pain, she did not awaken.

The sands shifted, swirling together until it was a long robe, a vizier’s robe, and she _knew_ that robe, and her mind flinched even as his arm grabbed her body.

_You have always wanted **more**_ **.**

“No!” She cried out; Jafar’s hand caressed her breast and she gasped at the feel of it; the slap had felt like nothing, but Jafar’s hands were the utter opposite: almost painfully bright and deep in how they made her nerves sing.

_You were fated to be mine, Princess._

“No,” she said, but softer now; Jafar’s grin at her weakening voice was damnable. He tugged at a nipple experimentally; not gently, as she may have eventually gotten Aladdin to do after several conversations, but with an almost painful amount of force, a force that sent more than just pain to the center of her core.

 _Look into the eyes,_ Jafar’s voice commanded, and she shut her eyes to avoid listening to it.

“You’re not real,” she whispered; Jafar, undaunted by her pleas, simply cackled. One long, bony finger slipped between the folds of her sex, and Jasmine whimpered as he touched her clit.

_Do you normally become aroused only for fantasies? What a poor husband, indeed. It is time you knew a man of your station.  Look at me._

She kept her eyes closed, even as Jafar swirled one long finger through her own wetness. She bit her lips, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was bringing her any pleasure. And he was bringing her pleasure indeed: his fingers were long but skillful, gently alternating between stroking her folds and circling her crowning glory.

A soft moan escaped her when he moved a finger inside of her; he chuckled in a way that once, long ago, she might have even been charitable enough to call seductive.

_Look at me._

She did not bother to deny him, concentrating any capacity that was not consumed by his fingers to keep her eyes closed. Nothing good would happen to her if she looked, she was sure. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be doing this at all, but it was so hard to think of running away when he was doing… _that_.

She gasped as a second finger wiggled inside of her; he curled both of them and from behind her tightly closed eyes, Jasmine felt comets burst through her mind. A third finger slowly circled her entrance, and she shook her head.

“No, I can’t, that’s too — “ He inserted the third and waited not at all before curling it against the spot inside of her that made her see stars. She widened her hips in a move that she might have called wanton had she had any capacity to. “Oh,” she moaned, her breath reduced to small puffs of wind. She felt as if she was impaled on his hand; she had never been filled, been stretched in quite such a way, and she wanted nothing, nothing more in the moment that to come.

 _This is what you are. Who you are._ She didn’t argue; her own hands touched her breasts as his hands continued their damnable dance, but they brought her no pleasure. Only Jafar’s touch in the dream could pleasure her, and what pleasure it brought was near blinding. She felt guilty that she was not having this dream about Aladdin, but dreams were just dreams, right?

 _Do you know what you are, Princess?_  Jafar’s voice curled and she rocked her hips, seeking contact. She was moaning fully now, wanton, as Jafar’s fingers danced across her, and it was too much, too much.

 _Open your eyes and see._ His fingers plunged in and out of her faster and faster, and she wanted to scream, and then she was coming, coming harder than she ever had, electric heat sparking through her and soaking not only herself, but Jafar’s hands as well.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused; she saw two red lights glare up at her from the space where his eyes had once been; they reminded her of nothing but his staff. She would recognize the ruby glint of the yes on the snake staff, always.

 _Mine._ Jafar’s voice whispered, and then he kissed her with a heavy and harsh promise. _Mine._

The sands beneath her shifted, and in the dream, Jafar's hands pushed her down into the sand. She cried out of the pain of the heat of the sand burning her back, then cried more as Jafar spread her legs all the way apart.

 _Say_ it, he growled; he stared down between her legs greedily, lustfully. _Say it, Princess._

“No,” she said, her breath barely a whisper. She should scoot back, should try to wake up, but a part of her wondered: what would it be like, to have Jafar? There had been a part of her that had wondered, once, if her father would have married them, and certainly, while she had never _wanted_ that, the inevitability of it had made her…curious enough to fantasize about the man she thought would be her future husband. And she still needed, needed; she was throbbing, hungry, and surely it was not cheating to enjoy a dream.  Right?

_A pity. I will convince you of your place at my side._

He shifted between her legs, lightning fast; she did not have time to so much as brace herself before he slammed his cock into her. It was sizable, and he was not careful; she bit down in pain as much as pleasure on her lower lip. Aladdin would have asked, would have slid in slowly, taking time to make sure she was comfortable. Jafar did naught of that. She should be affronted.

Instead, she was simply turned on. She whined high in her throat as he moved inside of her, taking her in his pleasure. A part of her enjoyed this, and the guilt she felt for doing so simply washed down into the sand; a flash of thought told her Jafar was manipulating her thoughts, but the pounding roar of her blood in her veins suggested that it did not matter as long as kept up that pace.

She did not touch him, gripping her hands into the sand below. He, however, had little compunction against doing so; one hand slapped at her breasts, rough; the other hand bent her leg higher behind his hip. It was nothing as bony as she thought it would be; in fact, his form seemed to shift under her to whatever she needed. She didn’t dwell on that long, though, overwhelmed by him.

For the sensations he caused her were everywhere, and it was like nothing she had ever been exposed to. The love-making was rough, crude, but it was at the same time, overwhelmingly pleasurable. The feelings were simply overwhelming, and she knew it was some sort of magic, and yet — she could not help but succumb to it.

She whimpered as Jafar pushed in again, out again; she knew she should be trying to wake up, but oh oh _oh_ – no, she couldn’t, she needed to see this through, she was so _close_. She knew she should go but she could not. Her orgasm was coming, and she was close, so – _close_. “Mine,” Jafar whispered into her mouth before kissing her hard. She tasted his teeth and groaned.

And then he pulled out entirely.

“Wha?” She asked, panting. “Why did you — ?”

Jafar’s smile was wide. “ _Say it.”_  

She bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t; somehow, even in the dream, she was well aware of what Jafar had been and how even in a dream, she should keep her wits about her. But then her blood was pounding in her ears, and he was circling her clit, and she bit her lip, and he withdrew once more.

“You must say it, Jasmine,” Jafar intoned. She whimpered, needy, but this time he refused. “Say it. It is just a dream, after all…only a dream.”

“Yours,” she said, finally, and then he was all upon her: his hand circled her clit as his cock hit a spot deep inside that made her see white. She gasped hard and felt herself quivering; Aladdin would have held her close and nuzzled her but Jafar had no such plans, and only looked at her with a hard glare as she came; he moved inside her, riding out her waves, before his own orgasm came. Unlike Aladdin, it was a muted thing, a simple grunt and shaky exhale the only indication of his pleasure. 

She had so many questions she wanted to ask of this dream – namely, what part of her dinner had caused it – but before she could say anything, Jafar snapped her fingers and she woke up in bed. Aladdin was staring at her, eyes wide.

“You okay, Jas?” He asked; his voice was hoarse and scratchy, so he had obviously just woken up. She blushed. This was not a dream she could tell him of, she knew; there was no easy way to explain the idea of _Jafar_ of all people, let alone that kind of sex. “You were whimpering…”

Her stomach twisted in concern as Aladdin looked at her, love and confusion in his eyes. “I’m alright,” she said; “just a dream.” She reached out and pulled his chin toward her, those warm brown eyes only offering understanding and compassion toward her. She thought of her dream’s complaints against him and frowned; no, Aladdin was not a bad husband at all.

“Can I kiss you, Jas?” He asked with a shyness that, for the moment, was charming. She nodded and kissed him, slow and careful; his hand shyly went to her side and she gripped it. She was ready to dispel the cobwebs of her earlier dream; it had been hot, but it was exactly that – just a dream.

 _Are you so sure?_ Jafar’s voice whispered in her ear, and she frowned, but then Aladdin’s mouth slipped to the spot on her neck that made her shiver, and the thought of Jafar was all too easily forgotten.

\---

Jafar’s voice did not, to her horror, go away.

When she went to her father’s court, he whispered in her ear; small, nebulous whispers, the sorts of things that Jasmine could not entirely believe were not her own thoughts. _He is a fool_ , a whisper in her ear said; she _lies_ , another. She bit her lip to keep from telling the voice in her head to disappear as he once had; surely it was just the aftereffects of the dream. It seemed natural that after sixteen years of toddling after the visitor, he may perhaps have lingered as a ghost in her mind as she came into her third decade of life and first decade of rule. Perhaps she had simply blocked out the trauma he had caused her, and this was her attempt to deal with it now that she was an established sultana.

_Are you truly satisfied with merely being a sultana? I am disappointed. You should be the queen of the entire caliphate._

“We are a peaceful people,” she growled in a whisper. The Persian ambassador looked up at her, obviously startled.

“I beg your pardon, my queen?” He pursed his lips, obviously perturbed. Jasmine crossed her legs and shook her head, stalling for a moment to gain her composure. That was the other problem with Jafar's voice in her head: she was…frustrated. _All_ the time. The grip of the dream had unlocked a desire in her that was furious; even taking leave to her chambers for … _rest_ had not helped.

_I could satisfy you Sultana. You need only come to me._

“I can’t.” The Persian ambassador looked up, mouth open.

“You wish not to continue our treaty of non-aggression, fair queen?”

She swore mentally and the Jafar voice in her head simply laughed. _You are too easily distracted by your unmet desires, sultana._

“I think perhaps it is time that we take our relationship farther.” She said, putting a hand on the ambassador's hand and ignoring the pang of frustration that passed through her at the contact. “Tell your leader that I wish to consider a full defensive treaty with them.”

“Yes, my queen.” He departed quickly and Jasmine sighed in relieve.

 _Might I give you relief, Sultana?_ Jafar's voice whispered.

“Please stop,” she said, and when the head of her guards gave her an odd look, she sighed. She was losing it. “I mean…I am retiring,” she said, a soft blush in her cheeks. “I will not require your services.”

She left the throne room without hearing their reply and pulled herself into bed for the third time of the day.

“How do I get your voice to go away?” She groaned.

_So eager to dispel your most promising partner?_

“You’re not real.” She closed her eyes and tried to think, but no matter what she thought of, she thought of Jafar. She closed her eyes, and his face was there. She could almost feel the phantom of his touch and she shivered, flipping onto her back. Her fingers slipped under the edge of her panties and she sighed. Her own touch seemed not to satisfy her anymore. The dream with Jafar had made her aware of how many of her cravings were going untouched.  Aladdin was too kind a lover to treat her roughly, and sometimes she just wanted to take Jafar’s old staff and use it as – She gasped.

The staff! Of course. They still had Jafar’s staff. It would be a simple thing to get him out of her head with that; she could simply wish for the memory of the dream to leave her. And then she would go back, surely, back to the Blissful ignorance that she had lived in a mere week ago. There was something to the idea that felt not-entirely-right to her, but the relief it gave her made her desperate for it, sure it was the only solution.

_Already you so clearly ache for control. Could you really get rid of me so easily?_

She growled in her throat, a sound with as much anger to it as one of Rajah's, though she looked less fearsome.  “Try me,” she said, though her heart waivered; there was a part of her that quivered at the thought that perhaps she would never quite know that power that he incited within her again. She sighed; as much as she had enjoyed her dream — _vision_ — she knew that she had to do what was right for her realm. She would find another way to satisfy her urges.

 _Certainly, not_ the voice inside her head scoffed, but Jasmine paid it no mind. Well, not entirely no mind; the thought of Jafar loomed large in her mind, and she thought of him taking her in the sands of her dream and bit her lip. “Focus, Jas,” she said, and sighed. What would Aladdin think? Jafar laughed in her mind and Jasmine blushed as she pushed forward, heading to the treasury before she could change her mind. Jafar’s voice had only gotten louder and more frequent over the past week, and Jasmine had no intention of waiting any longer to dispel it than she had to.

No one questioned her presence as she stomped down to the treasury; a side effect of being a mostly-sane monarch. A part of her thought of Aladdin, of getting him or Genie or even Rajah, but a part of her she could not shake was afraid to do so. There was a chance, however small, that Jafar was not simply part of her mind — and if he could talk to her, he could talk to them all, and he was clever enough to try to divide and conquer them. No, she would go alone.

She took a deep breath to steady herself before entering the room. It all but glittered with gold; her father had been careful about amassing a valuable store of gold prior to his abdication, and she had spent little of it. Once Jafar had been sequestered in his lamp, they had placed the staff here, hoping to keep it under lock and key in the hopes that no other sorcerer would find it. Jasmine had never quite liked sorcerers after Jafar, and felt the realm better without such — still, despite her lack of magic or curiosity regarding it, she saw the staff immediately, tucked in an obscure corner. It was as if it had been meant for her to find. She didn’t allow herself ot entertain that thought — it was absurd — but a part of her still feared it as she gripped the staff.

The two snake eyes stared into her own; she wondered if it still held power. It didn’t occur to her until she got here that she had no idea how to activate the thing. She tried to remember Jafar’s magic — they had never seemed particularly difficult for him to do, as if he simply said a thought and his wish came true.

_It is a talent, one you could learn with training if you would allow me to —_

“Forget,” she said, staring into the eyes. “Forget.”

The ruby gimlet eyes did nothing; they simply stared back at her, cold and dead and stone. Was it that she simply lacked the talent? Was it that they were, in fact, locked by a magical passphrase? She grunted in frustration.

_The staff only works on one’s heart’s desire, Jasmine. Magic is a fickle beast and can always smell your intentions. It will only obey those who stand behind their beliefs._

She frowned. She wanted to forget; of course, she wanted to forget! She didn’t need to remember the dream — which she was becoming less and less certain was a dream. She didn’t want to remember how good it felt when his fingers curled inside her, nor when he fucked her, hard and pitiless and ….utterly bewitching.

“I want to forget this,” she whispered; the eyes remained cold.

 _Do you?_  

She sighed. “No,” she admitted, snarling. It was bad enough she had enjoyed it; worse still now that she could no longer take it back. It had been the satisfaction of how she had always imaged sex to be.  She had never known how much she had longed to submit, but she had.

And she had.

_Speak your wish and let go, Jasmine._

Jasmine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was taking advice from a voice that seemed to exist only within her own mind.  It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, and yet — she had to admit, she could not quite let her experience go. There was a rich and heady power in the idea of Jafar that she longed for, that she could not quite extinguish in herself. _Forgive me, Aladdin, I tried._

Without her ever quite being aware of it, she grasped the staff, setting it up carefully — the ruby eyes held at a direct 120 degree to her own. She tapped out symbols she had never seen, her mind moving on instinct, and her mouth opened and words that were not her own, in a language that was not her own, poured out.

And before she could quite realize what she had said, Jafar was in front of her, his red and black gown just as she remembered it. He grinned at her, all malice in his eyes. “Ah, thank you. So nice to have more…living space.”

“You’re in a lamp, in the desert,” she said, but she did not protest as he grabbed her hand, delicately thumbing her knuckles in an intimate display that made her toes curl as much as it made her stomach churn.

“There are ways out of such predicaments, _sultana_. My powers are beyond your understanding.” He grabbed the staff from her roughly, and then pointed it toward her. She thought she should have smashed it, as Aladdin did once – wait, Aladdin had smashed the staff! How did he —

As if he sensed her confusion, he tapped it delicately against the carpeted floor.  “What you destroyed was merely one of many, a decoy. This staff is the original and not so easily smashed as the last. And you, my dear Jasmine, have no thief to break it in the night for you. I have spent many years waiting for this, and you will not take it away from me twice!”

“What do you want with me?” She asked, her voice quivering. It was one thing to think this a mere dream, but to be confronted with _magic_ itself; she had denied it so long, and now all she could think of was how obvious it was that what hurt her had not been here own delusion, but Jafar himself. She felt nothing but guilt, roiling inside of her like a mythic sea. “I — “  
  
“No talking,” he said, smirking. “I always told you speechlessness was a fine quality in a wife.”

The lights flash and Jasmine trembles; “give in,” he ordered, voice hard, and she did, hating herself all the while. There was a red light, and nothing there hurt, and so she leaned into it.

***

“Jas?” Aladdin asks, and she blinked; everything in her mind feels hazy, unclear. She is in her bedroom, her old red dress that Jafar preferred her in on her body. She could not recall exactly how she got into that, but it came.

“I’m here,” she said, though it was not entirely true. She moved only slightly out of the shadows, well aware Jafar was hiding behind them and needed her for this. She felt the staff appear in her fingers, and Aladdin’s eyes widened.

“What are you -- ?”

“It’ll be easier,” she said softly, “if you just look into the light. It won’t hurt, Aladdin.”

“Jasmine, no!” He leaped forward, but Jafar leaped from the shadows behind her. In the darkness of the royal bedroom, she could see him holding Aladdin’s shoulders, and her heart twisted even as her arms held up the royal scepter (or, at least, what would become the royal scepter, she knew; she was connected to Jafar on a level that she had never been before, and could only hope Aladdin would become part of this as well – but whether that was her hope or Jafar’s, she did not know).

“Look into the eyes,” she purred, and it was Jafar’s voice, out of her mouth, but she knew, she _knew_ , this was right. This was what she wanted. Right? What Jafar wanted was what she wanted, and if she could only convince this sultan-boy – her husband – why, he would reward her.

Jafar touched his chin, and for a brief moment, jealousy flared within her – Aladdin’s was hers, and hers alone, but after a moment, of course, she remembered who and what she was.  She was Jafar’s as much as she was Aladdin’s, and if Jafar wanted to touch Aladdin, surely it was his right to do so.

“Please, husband,” she said, as Jafar gently – or as gently as one could while still forcing someone – forced Aladdin to stare ahead, to look only at the red eyes.

“Jas…” There was something in him, a dark and lonely sadness, and for a moment she wanted to throw down the staff, but her hand twisted it upward instead, Jafar’s eyes cold and cunning in ways that made her slick as much as they made her fear. Aladdin twisted in his arms, but to no avail.

And then, all at once, she felt the fight go out of him. His shoulders slumped, Jafar’s smile widened, and they all knew who had won this day.

“I love you,” Aladdin said, his voice rough, and she nodded. Smiled. “If this is what you need, Jas…”

 “I love you too,” she said, then held the staff up close to his eyes. “Stare deep. It will hurt less.”

“Okay.” Aladdin looked and she felt the power coming from the staff, felt Aladdin’s mind expand with Jafar’s tenterhooks coating the way into his mind.

“Jas? Jas I can’t see. I’m in a desert…”

“Walk,” she said; she reached an arm out and Jafar did not chide her for it. He raised an eyebrow, but she did not bother to reply to him, keeping her focus on Aladdin. She kissed him and he gasped, almost wanton.

Jafar’s hand caressed Aladdin’s chest in a way far beyond friendly; she did not stop him. He groaned, but turned away. “No,” he whimpered.

“Give in,” she purred, because she could not stand the idea of constantly being affected by this magic, and not having him by her side. Aladdin was her husband, and he would go with her, whether to Allah’s heaven or the worst of all hells. “Please. Please don’t…” She blinked; what had she been about to say?

Jafar said nothing, but grunted; whatever Aladdin was saying, she could not help him, and Jafar seemed displeased by Aladdin’s resistance. He opened his eyes, displeased, as if Aladdin’s resoluteness was her fault.

“He seems to require more persistence.” He looked at her boredly, as if she was little more than a pastime. “Fellate him.”

“Would you like that?” She whispered to Aladdin, who whimpered and shook his head. He was trying, she realized, very hard to resist. She knew what would make him break. He was already hard; she could see the erection straining against his outfit. She knelt down between his legs and hoped that this would make his suffering come to the end; he would see, it was easier.

Aladdin offered no resistance as she slipped off his pants, sliding them low. Jafar rubbed at Aladdin’s jaw, his chest; one hand went further south but did not help her as she slowly brought his member to her lips. She licked it softly on the fat head of it; Aladdin whimpered, soft and sweet; encouraged, she swirled her tongue over more of him.

“Jas…I want Jas,” he murmured, his hips bucking.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m here.” She took him in her mouth properly then, and how he groaned at the response. Her hands moved to help her, and for a few moments she lost herself in an ancient rhythm and beat; Aladdin slid in her mouth, then out, then in again. His cock gave her salty proof of her enjoyment, and she rejoiced in that.

And then Aladdin hissed.

She pulled back, surprised; Jafar was behind Aladdin, moving one finger inside his exposed ass. She blinked, surprised; she had not known Jafar to use catamites. And yet, from the look on his face – a smile wide and mad with power, like a wolf’s mouth opening — it was less love than, perhaps, control.

Jafar had always, she knew, preferred control.

She continued her efforts, diving up and down on him even as he whimpered. His hands bound in her hair as Jafar mounted him from behind; there was a pain on his face — Jafar had not been particularly kind.

Her hands moved to cover the base of Aladdin’s cock as she sucked the head of his cock,  and for moments they continued this way; _submit_ , she willed Aladdin, _submit_. She needed him to say that he would be Jafar’s, as she was.

“Tell us who you belong to,” she murmured. “Say it.”

“Oh yes, say it,” Jafar said, all but laughing. She had never heard him sound so giddy as he did with his bony hips pressed firmly to her husband’s ass.

“Jasmine!” He moaned, and Jasmine stroked his thigh, pleased by the answer but needing more before she continued her ministrations.

“And not just Jasmine, but — “ she said, and Aladdin moaned, his eyes still red from the hypnosis.

“Jafar!” He called out, and she rejoiced; it was over. They could be together now.

Aladdin opened his eyes, back to as normal as they would be; she looked into his eyes as she took him deep, and Aladdin broke open, coming without warning. She did her best to swallow it all, stroking his thigh in silent encouragement. He had done well.

Jafar continued to use him, oblivious to Aladdin’s orgasm. His rhythm took him only a few moments more, and while Jasmine was aching, she knew her time would come. When Jafar spilled out in her husband, he hissed, the satisfaction, she suspected, of a plan long-held coming to fruition.

She swallowed as both her husband and her vizier turned toward her, interest displayed on both of their faces. She did not know what would happen next now that they had all committed to this road to hell, but Jafar looked forward to finding out, and she was sure that she, too, would come to feel the same in time. 


End file.
